Chapter 5: Helo Infil
Better late then never
The nighttime air felt good. A gentle sigh left his lips while he took in the night sky. It was a relief to be outside in the courtyard. They’d briefed, planned, coordinated, and prepared all day cooped up inside the little compound Al’s people ran. The dark sky was clear, the temperature was a more tolerable level, and it was quiet. It was a lot to take in. Julia’s brief had been exhaustive, illuminating, and infuriating. The information she had researched seemed to keep going, and she had only given them what she had compiled in the two notebooks she’d brought. There was more, but they were well past saturation. One thing that got under his skin was how easily the CIA was taken in by Hotak, or Baabaa Hotak, as he came to be known. During the Soviet occupation, they needed as many Afghanis as possible to join their cause. They barely even vetted them. It wasn’t until well after the Soviets pulled out they found out Hotak was not only working with the Americans, but he was also helping the Russians. He betrayed either or both and did whatever it took to line his pockets. Several CIA agents died at his hands, as did many Soviet soldiers and even more Afghanis, civilians, and Mujahideen fighters. Once the Taliban took over, Hotak integrated himself into their leadership, according to the CIA, to further his interest in the opium trade.
Everything that happened since the CIA hired Hotak could have all been avoided. The murders, the betrayals, the killings, including Paul, all of it could have been prevented if some pencil pusher had done his job and properly vetted Hotak. How Hotak came to be in the Tal Bez Valley, Mike didn’t know. Maybe his old Team had disrupted Hotak’s opium business, there were certainly enough poppies growing everywhere in their area of operations. What he did know was that someone twenty some years ago someone didn’t do their job, and his brother was dead because of it. And he had to fight not to internalize that with everything else.
There were more stars in the sky than he remembered. He tried to let go and see only the wonder of a cloudless sky, vivid stars unimpeded by pollution, and a bright clear moon shining down on him, maybe in some small way cleansing him. But it was nonsense, the thing that drove him, hate, didn’t just disappear because of a pretty sky. Deep down, he knew the hate would probably end up killing him one way or another. It didn’t matter.
The stars above were a good way to distract his thoughts and focus on the mission. The glowing tip of his cigar was a reminder he’d come out here to relax, but it was hard.
The Afghani with the machine gun was the same man he saw in the picture. The Giant, the one who shot Paul, but Mike had no doubt who was ultimately responsible, Baabaa Hotak or whomever he called himself. Hotak had set up the ambush on his team that morning.
They’d spent months after the ambush interviewing Afghanis in the police, military, farmers, shopkeepers, and the Team’s assets in the area. Mike casually placed his hands in his pockets, his cigar jutting from between his lips. They would have talked to the Afghani President if it had helped. The cigar moved from one side of his mouth to the other, and he gently chewed it, blowing smoke into the night air. They learned some hard facts. This Baabaa Hotak had far more control in the region than the Team had given him credit for. He was the Primary HVT in the Team’s Area of Responsibility and directed all enemy ambushes, roadside bombs, assassinations, graft, theft, and everything else. But, they’d learned, he had his tentacles around many high and low ranking police and military officers and most of the warlords not only in their AOR but countrywide. Worse still, he had subjugated several of their assets.
It had been a hard pill to swallow to know that it was his fault. The Intel looked spot on. There had been no reason to question it. Everyone who had worked for them had proved themselves on numerous occasions, leading to successful ops. But, somehow, those men had all been bought out either by money or intimidation.
He had been the one who pushed it and got his brother involved. With Paul’s help, he acquired the Marines help. Every man in combat knows the risk. Death is always out there waiting. But he was responsible for it happening to Paul and the other Marines. He should have seen through the lies, he should have detected the ambush before it started, and he should have done something.
That day in the valley, he had lost something inside himself. Somehow over the last year, he had found a way to salvage his relationship with his kids, but he’d probably screwed that up because here he was, back where it had started.
The door behind him opened, illuminating the courtyard. He chose not to turn and see who it was, he had a good idea. The moonlight gave the little fenced in space a small bit of charm in an uninspiring land. The artificial light from the open door highlighted the hard-packed earth, small mounds of dirt piled against the green screen attached to the chain link, the fine layer of dust on the old wooden picnic table, and plastic chairs.
As the door closed, Mike drew a three slot leather cigar case out of his back pocket, extracted a cigar, and held it to his left. Tom took the cigar and grunted thanks. Mike put the case back, pulled out his lighter and clipper, and handed them over.
A hand took the offered items. The clip snapped, dropping the cigar tip to the ground. The lighter stayed ignited for an extended time until Tom made a satisfied grunt.
Wordlessly, Mike took the clipper and lighter.
After several puffs, Tom broke the silence. “Quite the brief she put together. I’m a believer.”
“Mm-hmm.”
They both stared out over the fence into the night for several minutes.
“You know,” Tom pulled the cigar from his mouth and held it before his chest. “This day is a big day for you.”
Mike looked up at Tom’s emotionless face and then back over the fence. “I’m listening.”
“What I’m saying is, prior to the Tal Bez you were a different man than you are now. Before you were fun or fun-loving, or…” He grunted again. “You know what I mean. After Tal Bez, all the fun drained out of you, and all the seriousness stayed but amplified. After you went to Arlington to bury Paul alone, I might add. No invite for good old Tom. You’re demeanor changed again. Something happened up there.”
Mike snorted. “What, are you a freaking mind reader?”
“Only with women.”
They looked at each other. Mike rolled his eyes, and Tom chuckled.
“It doesn’t hurt that I’ve known you for about twenty years. I’ve seen you through some ups and downs. Hell, I was there for some of them. The point is you were never an asshole back then, but now…”
“Mike took the cigar out of his mouth. “Oh, I was always an asshole.”
Tom smiled. “Point taken.”
“But, I get what you're saying. I have changed. I know it. This thing inside me is a festering sore. It gets worse, it gets better, but it never goes away.” Mike took a slow drag and blew a large cloud of smoke into the night. “You and I have lost contact for the last few years, and that’s my fault. Since the divorce and retiring, all I’ve done is prepare for what may happen tomorrow. All of it in the hope I could come back here and finish what I started.” He took a deep draw from the cigar. “My Ex doesn’t talk to me, I don’t blame her. My kids probably won’t talk to me again because I came back here. I’ve ruined every other relationship I’ve had since, all because of my hate. I didn’t know if I would ever get this chance.” He spit a piece of wet tobacco on the ground. “Honestly, I assumed I would die a bitter, lonely, hate-filled old man. But today, all that hate has a purpose.”
The end of Tom’s cigar lit up the sour look on his face as he drew in.
Mike glanced up to see Tom’s eyes staring out into the night sky.
“But you didn’t bring this up to hear me talk about that.”
“True.” Tom took the cigar out of his mouth. “We don’t know what’s coming, but it could be some heavy duty shit. That being the case, when my personal safety is at stake, I have to bring up my concerns.”
“You want to know if I’m mentally prepared for what we find out there and if I can handle it without getting anyone else killed.” Mike looked at Tom’s expression and then back over the fence. “I’m prepared. If you don’t believe that, you may have to bow out?”
The tenseness in Tom’s demeanor dissipated.
“I’m in. I was always in if it meant getting some payback for Paul. That hasn’t changed. I’m with you one hundred percent on this. I just want to make sure you’re a hundred percent.” Tom snorted. “Besides, you know me. If there’s a fight coming, I’ll always be the first in line to go.”
“Don’t worry, I’m a hundred and ten percent for this thing.”
“Uh, there’s no such thing as a hundred and ten percent.”
Mike exhaled sharply.
“And the former Afghani Commando guys, the CIA has squirreled away here swooping in for the kill instead of us?”
“We’ll do a thorough recon and play that part by ear.”
Tom pursed his lips, a little put off.
“Look, I get it. We’re the recon team. We’re only here because of our time in and around the Tal Bez. We’re supposed to find out what’s going on in that valley and send that info up so the Commandos can come in and clean up. However, I’m still not clear on why the CIA really wants to go to this valley. Right a wrong? They want payback for Hotak’s betrayal and the deaths of their agents?”
Mike shrugged. “I know about holding a grudge, but something’s up that they’re not telling us.”
“Clearly.”
“But, I’m not rocking the boat. It gets me closer to Hotak.”
“I understand. When we need the commandos, we’ll call them. Right?”
“Don’t worry.” Mike blew a long stream of smoke into the air. “I know my role. Help get the team in. Let Al and them look for whatever they’re interested in and wait.”
“Wait?”
“Al said that this might be my chance to get Hotak, and that is what I’ll be waiting for. So don’t worry about me.”
“Worry? I’m in no matter how you want to play this, I’m at your side. I expect this will be the last time either of us will be in Afghanistan, so maybe we’ll go out with a bang,” Tom smiled, “or a whimper. If that helps get the monkey off your back, so much the better. I’m not worried. Believe that. ”
“Thanks, brother.” But, the tormented feeling of never doing enough or being allowed to do what needed to be done pressed down on him like a weight. He wanted to be within a breath’s distance from Hotak when he killed him. He didn’t want some CIA commando putting Hotak down or, worse, allowing him to escape. That could not be allowed to happen.
Tom shifted his feet, trying to gather his words. “It isn’t about now or during the op. I have no concerns other than the obvious.” He glanced at Mike’s intense eyes staring back at him and shifted his gaze into the distance. “It’s what will happen to you when the mission is over. In the end, if he’s there, this Baabaa Hotak will be dead, and so will your purpose, intent, goal, or whatever you want to call it. What happens to you? One way or the other, everything changes after that. My hope is it will clear your mind and give you a reason to go on living, like in the movies. You take revenge on your nemesis, take a deep cleansing breath, and it’s over.” The side of his mouth lifted into a half smile, half grimace. “But, that’s the movies. It could be the opposite. It could leave you more desolate, despondent, or whatever it is that’s got a hold of you.”
“You think I’m desolate?”
Tom shifted his shoulders. “Yeah, afraid so.”
“So you’re my therapist now?”
“I didn’t sign up for it. But, on a mission like this, it’s an implied task.”
“Hmm.” Mike took the cigar out of his mouth and flicked it across the courtyard. “Maybe you are a mind reader, after all. In my more alcohol induced quiets, I’ve considered the future and if I have one. You don’t have to worry. However this thing goes, it won’t be a suicide mission for me. But when it’s over, I will have to find a purpose. I know that. What that is, I have no idea and haven’t given it that much thought.”
“So you’re going to have to figure out what you want to be when you grow up.” Tom grinned. “I know the feeling, and I’ll be there for you.”
Mike responded with a half grin. “That old joke.”
Tom chuckled.
Mike shook his head half grin, turning to a full-on smile. “You know, all this adult talk is bringing me down. Let’s go finish up and get ready for tomorrow.”
Tom dropped his cigar and crushed the lit end. “About that, I’d be willing to bet Captain Amadulah still lives up there.”
Mike’s lips dropped. “Yep. You’re probably right.” He turned and headed for the door.
The bright fluorescent lights caused Mike to squeeze his eyes shut and blink as he entered the hallway and collided with Julia. By the looks of it, she’d been there a while waiting for him to reenter the building. An edgy tenseness emanated from her. Her back was against the wall, arms crossed, a no-nonsense look on her face. She’d been mulling something over, Mike guessed and decided to act on it.
He tapped Tom’s arm with the back of his hand as they walked. “You go ahead. I’m going to talk to Julia for a minute we’ll meet you in the briefing room when we’re done.
Tom looked at him, at Julia, and he walked on, nodding at Julia as he passed.
Her attention was so fixed on Mike she didn’t even notice Tom’s grin.
She pulled herself off the wall. The intensity in her eyes kept him from getting the first word in.
“Let me start.”
Mike stayed quiet.
“One thing you should know about me is I’m a really nice person until you cross me. I deserved an apology, and I was relieved when you did apologize.” She tipped her head. “I know I don’t have your breadth of experience.” She quickly lifted her hand, one finger raised. “Yes, you have tactical control of this operation, but I have operational control. I’m going to need to rely on you to help me make this mission a success. We can’t be at odds or have separate agendas before we even start. We need to work together. When we leave the front gate, I know it’s your world, but believe me, I poured myself into this before there was a mission. Without blowing my own horn, I can tell you on an intellectual level I know everything of importance there is to know about this country. In my world, I’m the go-to girl, no one can outperform me technically or with the same tenacity.” She paused, letting her arms slide down and putting her hands in her pockets. “I admit I may have come off a little arrogantly. I apologize for that. I was trying to make a good impression. Maybe I was a little nervous meeting you and Tom. Al made you guys out to be some kind of superheroes.”
Mike opened his mouth to speak.
She lifted her hands higher. “Let me finish.”
He nodded.
“I’ve already spoken to Al, Ahmad, and Bruce, and they agree. With them, you, Tom, and I we offer a great deal of experience, knowledge, and insight. I believe this partnership can work, but you have to be on board for it all to come together. Are you willing to work with me? Are you willing to conduct this mission with us no matter what constraints you feel might exist?”
Her head tilted eyes stared at him expectantly.
“Ah,” he said. “Your right, I’m sorry again I acted like an ass in the briefing room. You didn’t deserve that, and I should have handled myself more professionally.”
Her mouth dropped, and her eyes opened a little wider. She quickly recovered, closing her mouth.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about that valley and what happened there. I always hoped I would be back, but honestly never thought I ever would. Ever since I got off the plane, a lot of memories have resurfaced, more than the Tal Bez Valley, memories of the whole damn country. I won’t say they haunt me, but they aren’t good memories.” He looked down at the floor. “Being here makes everything feel fresh again. Maybe it’s true, be careful what you wish for.” A wry grin crossed his lips. “Tom and I had a little talk outside, and I guess I gained a little perspective.” He put his right hand out. “As you say, partners.”
She took his hand and shook it with an impressively firm grip he noticed. Her hands were rough for an office worker.
Her half concerned, half confused look quickly turned into a genuine smile.
“Well,” she said, releasing his hand. “That went a lot better than I thought it would.”
“You caught me at the right time.” He smiled. “Ten minutes earlier and…” He motioned with his left hand toward the briefing room. “Well, who knows.”
“My lucky day.”
They started walking side by side.
He’d make good and do everything he could to make this mission go smoothly. He’d help her get through any rough spots and achieve her goals. They might even remain friends when they all got back to the States. But nothing or no one was going to stop him from killing Hotak. He would do whatever had to be done regardless or in spite of what she thought her mission was.
He smiled as they walked. She smiled back.
Bruce took one last look in his notebook. “We have ten pickups in the motor pool, all of which have trackers, GPS’s, radios, and they will blend in easily with the local’s vehicles.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Ah, last time I checked supply, we had plenty of haji clothes, hats, scarves, man dresses, we got it all. We also have body armor, helmets, radios, and everything else you think we’ll need.”
“And the helicopters?”
“We just got a couple of new ones last week. The pilots are a little antsy. They heard what happened to the other two helicopters. They don’t have a strong desire to get shot down, disappeared, or whatever. Can’t say that I do either if I’m inside one of them.”
Mike shook his head. “You can tell them not to get their panties in a bunch they won’t be flying anywhere near the Tal Bez Valley.”
“I’ll let them know,” Al said, grinning.
“All right then.” Mike stood up from the briefing table. “I guess that’s it then.”
Bruce stood. “I’m going to head down and open the armory.
Al stood, too. “I’ll tag along.”
As they walked out the door, Mike walked to the whiteboard and stood in front of the detailed map devoted to the Tal Bez Valley. He hadn’t had time to think about it, but now that they were almost ready, he looked at the south entrance, putting a finger on the road leading into the open ground of the valley beyond. He leaned in his eyes on where he found Paul’s body. He pulled back and traced the road up the center of the valley to the fake Afghan camp. His finger continued to the north until it reached the tunnel mouth. The tip of his finger left the road and moved southeast toward the low ground where a small patch of bamboo had stood. Five Afghans had been at the bottom of that low ground. Three had escaped. And his brother flew out in a bag. His finger curled, becoming a fist resting on the map.
“Well, what do you think, boss?”
He blinked, took a deep breath, and pushed off with his fist. “What’s that?”
“Are we,“ Tom said, “going to have some fun or what?”
“You know we are.”
“Good.” Tom sat up. “Now that we’re here I’m good and ready for a little pay back not just for Paul, but everyone else we know who didn’t come back.”
“Whoa, whoa.” Julia didn’t see the slightest hint of jest on Tom’s face. “The is supposed to be a recon mission only we’re not here to engage anyone in combat.”
Tom exhaled sharply through his teeth. “That’s the problem, plan for the worst and hope for the best, but no matter what, things don’t always go as expected. We’ve planned for a bunch of contingencies, but it’s the things we don’t plan for, the things that we couldn’t have even guessed as possible, that we have to be ready for. So what you want and what’s going to happen may be two completely different things.”
“Come on, that’s everywhere.”
“Yes, but it’s the degree to which it impacts your life that it changes. You’re back in your office and spill coffee on your computer. You lose some data, maybe, your boss is upset with you, and life goes on. Here, one of our two helicopters has a mechanical failure and crashes into a mountain then what? Fine, the mission is over before it starts.” A tinge of red edged up from his collar. “But, what if the helo lands safely? Then we have to make a decision on the ground what to do. That decision leads to so many other possibilities you can’t plan for them all. So that recon mission may turn into a shit show real quick.”
“As long as you know, I’m the one who has the ultimate say around here.” She wasn’t intimidated. “You know I’m the one who is supposed to be in charge here, and so far, both of you have been assholes to me. So how about toning it down a little, or you’re going to find yourselves in the doghouse.”
The right side of Mike’s mouth twitched up. “A fair point.”
Tom laughed. “That’s the spirit. I like that. Don’t worry. The longer you know us, the more we grow on you.”
“Like a cyst?”
Mike and Tom laughed.
“Here’s one contingency Tom never planned for.” Mike reached his hands out to his side like a showman and put them behind his back. A snapping sound came from under his shirt, and Mike’s right hand came forward for them to see.
As soon as he saw it, Tom laughed. “You brought that piece of shit with you?”
“Heyyy. You’ll hurt my feelings.”
Mike lifted the tomahawk in front of his face. It had a green wooden handle, and a black blade, on the opposite side was a spike. Silvery scratches marred the black metal of the blade and spike. The olive drab green of the wooden handle was scratched, worn, and was a dirty tan color near the bottom from years of use.
“Have some respect,” Mike said. “This thing has seen more combat than you have.”
Tom laughed again.
Julia looked at the big smile on Mike’s face and Tom’s laughter back at him. “I don’t get it.”
I don’t either,” Tom said.
“This.” Mike straightened his arm. “This little beauty was my dad’s.” He held it out to her. She took it in her hands, not knowing what to do with it, and handed it back. “He was Special Forces in Vietnam and carried it on every mission he went on.”
“Now tell her the best part,” Tom said, unable to contain himself.
“He took it on every mission he was a part of to include over one hundred successful ambushes.” He glanced at her and winked. “Not all of them were ours.” He twirled the handle, the scratched blade and spike spinning in front of his face. “Anyway, I pulled this out of one of his old footlockers. When it was my time, I decided to take it with me, take it to my war.”
“That’s nice, I guess.” Julia lifted her shoulders a bit. “I can’t relate to the war stuff, but I never had you pegged as the sentimental type.”
“There’s a lot more to me.” He sat at the table with them. “You only know the twisted steel and sex appeal part. I’m multidimensional.”
She rolled her eyes at him but couldn’t hold back a small smile.
He smiled back at her.
“Tell her the best part,” Tom said.
“My tomahawk and I came to this wonderful country for three tours.”
“I was there for all three,” Tom added.
Mike looked at him, then back at Julia. “Anyway, as I was saying. We did a lot of stuff, went on a lot of missions, and this little baby.” He lifted it up. “Like my father before me, it never left the scabbard when the shit hit the fan. It’s funny in this age of guns, artillery, and bombs, tomahawks don’t have much use.”
“The only combat that thing ever saw,” Tom said laughing, “was target practice into a tree.”
“Yeah, after a while, it became a running joke.” A wiry smile exposed a dimple on his cheek. “Until I finally looked at it as my uncomfortable, good luck charm.”
“Uncomfortable?”
“No matter where I wear it, it’s uncomfortable. As you saw I have it on my back in a harness for a quick draw. If I’m not wearing body armor and the rest of my kit, I wear it on my back, including when I’m driving. Yes, that’s uncomfortable. With my kit on and I’m walking, it’s on the back of my vest. I practically have to throw my shoulder out to get to it. With my kit and I’m in a truck, it’s on my waist, and it gets caught on everything. Of course, if I’m walking with a rucksack on, it goes on my waist too. It hangs down and bumps my leg, and it gets caught on vegetation.” He pushed the head of the tomahawk against the side of his leg. “It gets in the way a lot. Generally, no matter how I wear it, it’s a pain in the ass.”
“To the point,” Tom chuckled. “He wished his dad had carried a bowie knife, or pocket knife, or even a spoon with a sharp edge.”
“And it’s going?” Julia smiled at the joke.
“Oh yeah, it’s going. I’m taking this uncomfortable piece of guano.”
Tom stood with a grin plastered to his face. “And it will never see the light of day.”
Mike shrugged, standing. “You never know.”
Julia stood. “Let’s hope it’s still lucky.”
“Let’s hope.” Mike held his hand out toward the door. “Let’s head down to the armory and pick out some nice blasters.”
Over the hood of the pickup truck, past the ramp, the outside darkness raced past the back of their helicopter. It was a tight fit to back up his pickup truck into the cargo bay of an MI-17 helicopter, but it fit almost like it was designed to. Tom and his truck were in the back of the second helo. With no room to shimmy down between the side of the cargo bay and the truck, Mike remained in the driver’s seat watching the ground fly by. That was fine with Mike. It was more comfortable than sitting on the canvas seats, now folded up against the inside of the helo.
Unlike the movies, the intense high-frequency noise was deafening. If he wanted to communicate with Al next to him or Julia in the back seat, it was through sign language, or he had to lean in and yell. Another thing the movies did a poor job of representing was the smell. Even after an hour and a half in the air, the inside of the helicopter reeked. It could have been a spilled bottle of hydraulic fluid, but more likely, he figured it was one of the interior lines running along the frame of the aircraft. As long as whatever the problem was didn’t cause them to go down, he didn't care he’d deal with the smell. Being inside a helicopter that crash landed was on top of his list of things to never do again.
Outside, the moon was three-quarters full, bright enough to give everything an eerie look, but also enough to see the terrain rush past the hood of his truck, out the ramp. The shadows were another story, they were pitch black. Rivers and roads were easy to track as they passed each landmark, one was darker than the land around it and the other lighter. Fields of crops were always near each side of the rivers they flew over. From experience, he knew they could have been fields of corn or rice, or sometimes it was marijuana or poppies lining the river. The type of crops depended on the season and whatever the farmers could eat or sell.
Even with the brutal sound of the helicopter’s engines assaulting their hearing protection the sight of the nighttime land passing by was relaxing in a way, almost hypnotizing. It was tranquility compared to previous trips of standing room only, slamming into the ground, picking themselves up off the deck of a helo, and initiating a nighttime raid, or jumping from a hovering helo onto the side of a mountain and conducting recon ops in Indian country.
The helo bobbed and weaved as they followed the contour of the ground. Only a few hundred feet above the deck they traveled nap of the earth. There was almost no chance of ground fire. The flight plan kept them away from populated areas and there were no more US helicopters to shoot at anymore. But, it paid to be careful they didn’t want to be seen and reported.
In the driver's seat of the dirty four-door pickup truck, Mike might pass as an Afghani. That was the plan. Next to him, Al wore the same Haji gear, what they called the clothing the Afghani populace wore. Al’s pants and shirt were both a light beige color. His vest and hat were brown. The colors of his own ensemble were light brown and black. Most Afghani men would have completed this ensemble with a pair of sandals. That’s where they drew the line. Sturdy western hiking shoes covered their feet. The consensus was that it was worth the risk of someone spotting them.
To her chagrin, Julia was in a full burka. The only thing exposed were her eyes. It had taken some convincing. She had wanted to dress like a man, but she would have had to cut her hair and dye it, and her figure… He smiled. She wasn’t amused when he told her that Afghani men, even the gay ones, didn’t look like Western women. The burka covered her long blond hair. She would have to keep her blue eyes down if they met anyone. They were a dead giveaway.
Under their Haji gear, they all wore western trousers and shirts. He’d worn Haji gear before on patrols in Indian Country, it could defeat a casual glance. Any kind of scrutiny and they would never pass, their mannerisms and body language were all wrong. But, he felt good about it, they’d be driving in the dark on an empty road. He hoped it would be enough to get them where they were going.
The second helo flew behind them, in and out of his view out the ramp, flying back and forth as it followed.
He lifted his hand up to his right ear and pushed the little spongy foam earplug deeper into his ear canal. One of the things the Army had given him when he retired was hearing damage and crap hearing protection didn’t make it any better. Sometimes when things were quiet the ringing in his ears almost sounded as if he were in a helo again.
The second helicopter flew past again. Both MI-17s made adjustments as they flew, keeping each other in sight. The two aircraft stayed more or less in formation, one behind the other. In the second pickup, Tom was at the wheel, Bruce rode shotgun, and Ahmad sat in the back. They wore the same style of Haji gear as Mike and Al. Only Ahmad could pull it off convincingly.
He lifted his watch. It was almost time. On the seat between him and Al rested two M-4’s their muzzles pointed at the floorboard. He checked his for the umpteenth time to make sure the selector switch hadn’t bumped itself into fire mode. He looked back and gave Julia a thumbs up, she smiled back. In the truck bed, the rest of their weapons, demo, optics, rucksacks, ammo, and body armor lay under a tarp. In the second truck’s bed, it was a mirror image of the gear and weapons they would need.
A movement drew his eyes upward, the crew chief crawled over the windshield and onto the hood. He shined a red lens flashlight at his empty hand and signaled a three with his fingers then pointed the red light into the cab. Mike gave him the thumbs up. Three minutes. The crew chief turned off the flashlight, moved rearward, knelt down on the ramp, and looked outside. The three of them looked up, a second crew member climbed over the truck and joined the crew chief on the ramp.
Mike reached down and turned the ignition key, he couldn’t hear it start, of course. The vibration from the engine turning over was his only indicator the truck had started. The ramp lowered in anticipation as the ground came up fast. Foot on the brake, Mike disengaged the emergency brake and got ready to shift the truck into gear.
The rear two wheels of the landing gear hit the ground then the forward wheel hit. The two crewmen jumped out and pulled out two detachable ramp pieces from the center of the helicopter’s floor. They attached them to either side of the ramp and stood back as the crew chief motioned him forward. It wasn’t as hard as it looked. Just drive in a straight line until the rear wheels hit the ground, turn right, and drive until the truck was outside the radius of the spinning blades. Simple. They all looked back. The detachable ramp pieces were already inside. The men on the ramp looked back at them as the helo lifted off.
To their right, the second helo took off as Tom positioned his truck behind Mike’s truck. The crew chief waved, and both men walked inside as their helo pulled away the second MI-17 behind them.
Flipping the headlights on, Mike accelerated down the hard packed dirt road. The yellow hearing protection fell to the floorboards to join Al’s. In the rearview mirror, the second truck turned on its lights and followed.
Thank You for Reading!
Wrath’s Pit is a serial story. It is ongoing even as you read. The table of contents, with links to existing portions of the story, can be found at the link below.
To ensure you don’t miss future installments, subscribe to David’s Substack! A free subscription will get you access to the story as it unfolds around Mike Mason and his Team. The collection of chapters will move into the Premium Archives at about Chapter 10. This parallels the word count of an Action Thriller book that might be purchased at a bookstore. In the future, I will be starting another Serialized Story that will run concurrent to Wrath’s Pit, so stay tuned.
By upgrading to paid, you will be supporting my work as a writer, which will allow me more time behind a computer writing the stories we love to read.
If you don’t have the money for a paid subscription, telling a friend about me is pretty cool too. Getting my words in front of eyeballs is honestly harder than doing the actual writing and editing…